


all the innocent things that i doubt

by Liu



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sports, Asexual Character, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6336325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a match, Mick comes to Ray's hotel room. Ray doesn't quite know what he expected, but it probably wasn't what he gets.</p><p>Title comes from Jaymes Young's "I'll be Good" which mostly reminds me of Len but oh well. XD</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the innocent things that i doubt

**Author's Note:**

> For gemenice's prompt on tumblr: "Come to bed and listen to the rain with me."
> 
> Title comes from Jaymes Young's "I'll Be Good" which mostly reminds me of Len

A knock on the door of his hotel room doesn’t exactly wake Ray up. He’s only half-asleep at best, the rain behind the window lulling him to sleep while he’s still wound tight from the match, rehashing all that could have gone differently, everything that _he_ could have done to make things better. They won, in the end, but just barely: with Rip out of commission, Ray as the vice-captain feels personally responsible for every mistake that has been made. He knows the others are still celebrating in the hotel bar – or have been, Ray has no idea what time it is and whether or not they’re still drinking.

 

Another knock and Ray pushes the bedcovers off, letting his feet fall to the ground. He doesn’t know who’s on the other side, but he’s betting it’s either about a problem that a team captain should be solving, or a case of mistaken door number. Even after the whole semester, they still treat him like an outsider, like he doesn’t belong. He’s gotten good at pretending it doesn’t sting, but secretly he’s still waiting for the day when a pat on the back will come his way instead of the ‘friendly’ teasing.

 

He opens the door and blinks when he finds Mick standing there, in the hotel corridor, hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans, the non-descript beige Henley tight around his bulging biceps. Mick bites the inside of his cheek and gives him a sheepish look, and Ray has to make a conscious effort not to remember the way Mick’s mouth tastes.

 

They only kissed once, three weeks ago in a different hotel corridor, dimmer and tackier than this one. They had both been sweaty and exhausted and high on the adrenaline coursing through their bodies from the match. Tipsy, a little bit, and for once Ray felt like a part of the team when Mick draped an arm around his shoulders and laughed loudly in Ray’s ear about something or another that Ray had been beating himself up about but Mick found hilarious. It made Ray feel better, to know that someone was not adding up his failures, but instead taking them as jokes, and when Mick’s gaze caught on Ray’s lips, it was impossible not to lean in and kiss him. He did not even fully realize what he was doing, how much he was risking; with Snart on the team, it wasn’t like there was any place for homophobia among them, but Mick had never made himself easy to read. No – all Ray could think in that moment was that Mick’s eyes looked incredibly warm and relaxed and open, something he wasn’t used to seeing in the older guy. Mick was warm everywhere Ray touched him, heat radiating through the fabric of his shirt when Ray put a hand on his shoulder, seeping into the kiss when Ray’s mouth brushed Mick’s. He didn’t taste like anything, not through that chaste first touch, lips meeting and questioning. Took a while for Mick to respond – Ray was ready to stammer out an apology, heart hammering against his ribcage and palms starting to sweat, but Mick’s lips moved and he tilted his head, just a little, and when Ray slipped his hand up to Mick’s neck, he could feel the man’s pulse racing against his palm. Ray never would’ve expected Mick Rory, the guy always ready to acquaint his fist with someone’s face, to be almost tentative in his kisses, slow and careful and maybe a little bit afraid, like he barely knew what he was doing… but Ray found it sweet anyway.

 

It could not have lasted more than half a minute, all in all, and Ray would like to think that it was just too much beer that made him screw it up, but he doesn’t even believe it himself. He can still see Mick’s eyes, widening just a fraction when Ray pushed him up against the nearest wall and dove in for another kiss, deeper, filthier, unambiguous in its implications. Mick let him, for a second, and then he pushed Ray away with definite certainty and a deep scowl, stalking off without a word.

 

Ray thought that was it, and regretted his own greed immediately. He expected jokes at his expense the next day, but it seemed that Mick did not tell anyone, not even Snart, which was ridiculous considering how extremely oversharing the two seemed to be with each other. It was a relief and a curse all in one, because while Mick made no obvious effort to treat Ray any differently… the problem was, he made no conscious effort to treat Ray any differently. As if nothing had happened – as if Ray was the only one who even remembered the kiss, who cared a little too much. Maybe Mick just figured himself out, figured he wasn’t all that bi-curious, or maybe he just wasn’t _Ray_ -curious, who knew.

 

All Ray knows is that Mick is standing here _now_ , looking very much like he would like to come in, if the shifty glance he throws over Ray’s shoulder is any indication.

  
“You alone?” he asks, and there’s tightness in his voice, something that Ray doesn’t understand. He wants to scream that he wouldn’t _have_ to be alone if Mick only pulled his head out of his ass, but that sounds counterproductive and Ray hasn’t had enough beer tonight to make bad decisions.

  
“Yeah,” he shrugs, and adds a smile, because that’s his most unreadable expression, the one that fools others the best into thinking he’s fine. “Did you need something?”

 

It’s embarrassing even to himself how much he wants Mick to say ‘you’, but he knows that’s not happening. Mick shifts on his feet and steals a glance down the hallway, as if he’s expecting someone to show up and rescue him from himself, but eventually he meets Ray’s eyes head-on, with his trademark scowl.

  
“Can I stay in your room tonight?”

  
Ray’s breath catches in his throat, and he wants to pinch himself – but if this is a dream, he’s willing to allow himself the illusion for a while longer, so he doesn’t. He steps out of the doorway so that Mick can walk in, because he doesn’t quite trust himself to talk just yet. He raises a hand to Mick’s back, broad and strong, with tattoos Ray has never let himself admire as long as he wanted to in the showers or locker rooms. But before he can touch-

  
“Thanks, man. Len’s boyfriend came to see the match and I can’t sleep with the noise they’re making.”

 

-Ray lets his hand drop, glad that Mick has not seen the gesture. So that’s why: Ray is the only one to have a room to himself, capable of aiding a teammate who’s been sexiled. It’s not that Mick wants to be here _with him_ – he just doesn’t want to be around Len Snart and his incredible vocal range while having his dick sucked. (Ray would very much like _not_ to have this knowledge about his teammate, but The Shower Incident that the team likes to loudly remember has taken that option from him.)

 

It makes sense, but it still aches, like a splinter lodged right behind Ray’s breastbone where he can’t get it out no matter how hard he tries.

 

“No problem,” he manages and feels pride at the fact that his voice seems to be working. He walks back to the bed and wonders how he’s going to get any sleep with the man he’s been thinking about for _weeks_ right there: but Mick seems equally uncertain as he glances at the bed, at Ray, in the dim light of the tiny bedside lamp, and then at the small couch tucked into the corner of the room. And suddenly Ray knows he’s not the only one feeling the charge of the moment.

 

“Come to bed,” he whispers hoarsely at the same moment that Mick blurts out: “I’ll take the couch.”  
  
Ray’s eyebrow twitches up as he shoots a pointed stare to the corner of the room:

  
“That thing’s barely big enough for you to _sit_ on, Mick.”

 

“Then I’ll take the floor,” Mick huffs, that determined scowl firmly in place; so firmly that Ray wonders how hard Mick has to fake it (how hard he must be hoping to make it, eventually). But what is it that Mick is afraid of? It’s definitely not rejection: Ray doesn’t think he could’ve made his intentions any clearer if he sent Mick a singing Valentine’s card (not that he wouldn’t, it just wasn’t the right time, in the middle of May).

 

“Mick,” he says softly and pats the mattress – it’s definitely large enough for two adult men to sleep in without any unnecessary touching, even for two men as tall and broad as both of them are. But Mick still eyes the bed as if it were physically impossible to squeeze more than one person on it. His eyes slide from the bedcovers, already a little rumpled, up to Ray’s eyes, and Ray can see the exact moment something clicks in Mick’s brain and switches him from ‘neutral’ to ‘panic’.

  
“Shouldn’t’ve come,” he mutters and bolts for the door, but Ray’s faster: he’s had enough of this hot-and-cold bullshit and if Mick doesn’t like him back, doesn’t want the extra trouble or doesn’t want _Ray_ , that’s fine, he will deal with it, but he wants to _know_.

 

His hand slaps against the off-white surface of the hotel-room door, just a couple of inches from Mick’s face: the other man gives him a haunted look, and Ray nearly lets him go out of sheer sympathy, out of unwillingness to cause Mick discomfort.

 

Nearly.

 

“But you _did_ come,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low and quiet in an attempt to sound soothing even when he’s on the verge of panic himself. He desperately wants to keep Mick here, to make Mick _want_ to stay, but he doesn’t know how, and Mick just looks like he’s contemplating jumping out of the window. “You came to me, Mick. Why? If you don’t want me-“

 

Mick’s eyes are fierce when he glares up at Ray suddenly, so fierce that Ray actually halts mid-sentence.

 

“I-“ the words seem to stick in Mick’s throat, like he’s struggling to speak through some magical barrier, and his face merges from irritation to frustration to defeat in a manner of seconds.

  
“I don’t know,” he squeezes out through gritted teeth eventually and turns away from the door and from Ray, pushing the heels of his (enormous, beautiful) hands into his eyes.

 

Well, it’s certainly more than Ray expected – _I don’t know_ is a bit easier to swallow than _no_ , confusion less painful than rejection. Or maybe not: this way, Ray can’t have the clean break he needs to move on, to stop daydreaming about Mick’s eyes and shoulders and fingertips.

  
“You don’t know if you like me?” Ray asks softly and forces himself to stay still, right by the door. Mick is pacing back and forth in the confined space of the room, like he’s ready to jump out of his skin, and crowding him probably wouldn’t do much good.

  
“No, I know that,” he snaps, drawing in a sharp breath. “I do.”

 

Ray’s heart jolts at that – he can’t know for sure if Mick meant that he does know, or that he does _like_ him, but the level of sincerity and ache encompassed in those two short words feels like it could be the latter, even though Ray’s almost afraid to hope.

  
“Then what’s the problem?”

 

It’s a simple question, but Ray understands that the answers to the simplest ones can be quite complicated sometimes, and it looks like this might be that case. Mick gives him another of those troubled looks, like a man who’s in pain and can’t quite describe where it hurts the worst. He opens his mouth, halts, tries again, and Ray’s patient, he is, but this suspense is killing him. The tension is tangible in the air between them, and Ray wishes he could leave the talking for the morning, step closer and tangle himself in Mick and stop thinking in words, but he knows now that _that_ is not what Mick needs.

 

“It’s… fast,” Mick forces out in the end, pained and tight. “Last time, that was too... y’know.”

 

Ray knows that – he could see it in Mick’s eyes when he basically ran away as soon as tongues happened to meet. He just attributed it to some identity crisis freak-out: he never thought that a man Mick’s age might find that ‘too fast’.

 

Mick is looking at him and his self-defensive, frightened scowl deepens. Ray feels like he’s just entered some proving grounds and if he fails the test, he’s never going to make up for it.

 

“I can do slow,” Ray offers tentatively, and it feels like a step in the right direction, but… not the finish line? Mick swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs, drawing Ray’s attention. He wants Mick, so much that it hurts in his very bones, but he still has a trial to pass before he’s allowed to touch.

 

“I never…” Mick mutters and looks away. He doesn’t have to specify to get his meaning across: Ray’s eyebrows shoot up because he wouldn’t have guessed, what with Mick’s usual confidence, even aggression sometimes, with the way he looks and talks and carries himself.

  
“Never?” he asks, for the lack of anything better to say, and Mick looks up at him with an odd look that makes Ray think there’s more to this than just never having had the opportunity, or never having found the right person.

  
“Never.”

 

It feels final when Mick says it like that, like he’s not talking just about the past but maybe also about the future. It should be a deal-breaker, with how much Ray wants to touch him, to kiss him and taste him and run his hands all over Mick’s tanned skin… but the strangest thing is that in that moment, with Mick looking at him like he’s expecting things to end before they started, Ray realizes he wants Mick to want him, in any way, more than he wants anything else. And if slow is what Mick needs, then Ray owes it to both of them to at least try.

  
“Come to bed,” he repeats his earlier offer, barely audible, “just… listen to the rain with me.”

 

For a moment, he thinks it won’t work, that Mick will walk out anyway and never come back. Ray moves away from the door, back to the bed – he doesn’t want Mick to stay just because someone is blocking his only exit route. If Mick makes this decision, it has to be his, only his, even if Ray’s breath catches on every passing second; but eventually, after a whole eternity, Mick takes the first tentative step towards Ray.

 

He advances on the bed, then, like he’s charging an opponent, tackling someone in the field, the scowl creasing his forehead again. He slips under the covers and doesn’t say anything when Ray turns off the lamp.

 

Ray knows he’s going to be a bit too warm at night, what with Mick’s incredible body heat, but he can’t find it in himself to mind. Especially not when he’s on the verge of falling asleep and the sheets rustle a little, and suddenly there’s a large hand wrapped lightly around his own, squeezing once and then keeping a loose grip on his fingers. Ray smiles and his last thought before he tumbles into sleep is that he won’t mind waking up next to Mick at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr.](http://pheuthe.tumblr.com/)


End file.
